


unstoppable force / immovable object

by localcrypted



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: 'baby boy' being used during sex, (its referenced directly though), And Then SOTC, Dirty Talk, Gender Related, Getting Together, I guess???, M/M, Mutual Pining, Offscreen Kink Negotiation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Smut, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, a brief dance with breathplay, mentions of misgendering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:30:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21929374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localcrypted/pseuds/localcrypted
Summary: “Wait,” Brian pauses, and stops in his tracks. Pat’s feet carry him a few steps further before he turns around, pure curiosity on his face as they make eye contact. “I mean. We could—for the stream?”“Could what?”“Only a thought, but,” Brian says, “what if we called the stream ‘Gill and Gilbert,’ maybe? The ‘back on their bullshit’ part can just be implied.”For a perilous few seconds, Pat doesn’t say anything, makes no reaction, keeps his expression stone-still. “Brian,” he whispers—a grin forming around the words— “that’s the most fuckin’ genius idea I’ve ever heard. Fuck yeah.”He wonders if being able to make Patrick’s face—sharp cheekbones, even sharper jaw, anticipation filled eyes, and all—light up with excitement will always make Brian this warm and content.That’s probably a little much, Gilbert, don’t you think? It’s not like Pat even likes you back. You’re just shit at avoiding crushes on anyone you have no chance in hell with.Maybe it’s stupid, but hoping against hope, Brian wants it to.
Relationships: Brian David Gilbert/Patrick Gill
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53
Collections: Polygolidays Gift Exchange 2019!





	unstoppable force / immovable object

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustThePlanets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustThePlanets/gifts).

> hi its [redacted but you probably will guess really easily anyways] @JustThePlanets i hope you like?????

It’s hard for anyone to suppress “first-day/week/month-at-a-new-job” anxiety. That’s what Brian keeps telling himself, anyways—a desperate attempt to keep him from curling up in that very appealing phone room that is _ very _ close to his new desk. New co-workers. New _ everything— _

even though he ends up being branded “new,” then “old,” then a multitude of epithets that Brian hopes are a sign he really does belong at Polygon. And with every passing day, as he finds himself slotting into place with these weird and wonderful people, there’s just one, _ slight _ problem: 

Patrick Gill is _ too goddamn attractive. _

Brian tightly squeezes his eyes shut, and takes another deep breath. And, y’know, fucking focuses on his actual job. Which is most certainly not admiring how fucking stunning Pat’s jawline is from across the room right now, how Pat will brush a strand of dark hair that’s fallen over his eyes backwards; how the movement accentuates the biceps currently on display _ grâce à _whatever deity ordained Pat to wear short sleeves this morning.

He tears his gaze away, for real this time, but not even five minutes later Brian’s attention is drawn away from editing—this time by a slack notification. 

**tara long**

_ > hey need u in my office for a quick sec _

  
  


Brian takes the time to fire back a quick _ okey dokey, _ and minimizes the window before pushing himself up from the chair. _ It’ll be fine, _ he attempts to reassure himself. _ The likelihood of you being in trouble for something is nonzero but statistically insignificant. Tara’s probably just doing logistical bullshit or whatever. _He hesitates before pushing the door open, and is greeted with a raised eyebrow. 

“_ Okey dokey?” _She asks incredulously. Brian shrugs in response, but Tara doesn’t seem to be mad, or even irritated, honestly. Maybe exasperated. But probably not entirely at him, which Brian is going to view as a victory. 

She gestures for him to sit, and Brian does. The weight of the dead silence starts building tension in the atmosphere as he and Tara stare awkwardly at each other for a solid minute, until the door cracks open again.

“Hewwo,” Pat says as he strolls in. “What’s up?”

“Pat Gill, I swear to _christ—” _she coughs, cutting off whatever expletive she’d been planning to use next. “Brian. _Pat_. You’ve both been late at least twice in the past week, not counting today.” He winces under her mildest glare, and Pat evidently feels chided, somewhat, judging from the blush flaring across his cheeks.”

Tara clears her throat again. “Anyways. As your boss, I am contractually obligated to remind you that there are hourly requirements, yada yada, more bullshit,” she rolls her eyes, “the point is—you’re both streaming tonight. Tomorrow if absolutely necessary, but. Figure something out between the two of you, if you can.”

Brian can see Pat nod in unison with him, out of the corner of his vision. His eyes quickly flit back to Tara, though; Brian knows a dismissal when he sees one which means he wastes no time before almost scampering out of the room. 

There’s a sudden peal of laughter behind him, and _ gosh, _ Brian is so fucking gay and also Pat’s laugh is so beautiful. Like. What the fuck? Completely unfair to the rest of society, for one person to be so hot, and cute, and funny, _ and _ talented. How _ rude. _

(Brian, for the record, would like to claim that it’s unfair to him, _ specifically _, that he somehow has to exist in the same space as Patrick multiple hours of the day without spontaneously combusting.)

He doesn’t laugh, but Brian does smile shyly in return. “So. Uh. Any ideas?”

“Sorry, I just—” Pat inhales deeply in an attempt to control any stray giggles. “—stupid, more like, but. 

"Tara’s entire face _ screamed _, ‘Gill and Gilbert, back on their bullshit.’” 

“Wait,” Brian pauses, and stops in his tracks. Pat’s feet carry him a few steps further before he turns around, pure curiosity on his face as they make eye contact. “I mean. We could—for the stream?”

“Could _ what?” _

“Only a thought, but,” Brian says, “what if we called the stream ‘Gill and Gilbert,’ maybe? The ‘back on their bullshit’ part can just be implied.”

For a perilous few seconds, Pat doesn’t say anything, makes no reaction, keeps his expression stone-still. “Brian,” he whispers—a grin forming around the words— “that’s the most fuckin’ genius idea I’ve ever heard. _ Fuck _ yeah.”

He wonders if being able to make Patrick’s face—sharp cheekbones, even sharper jaw, anticipation filled eyes, and all—light up with excitement will always make Brian this warm and content. _ That’s probably a little much, Gilbert, don’t you think? It’s not like Pat even likes you back. You’re just shit at avoiding crushes on anyone you have no chance in hell with. _

Maybe it’s stupid, but hoping against hope, Brian wants it to.

“Fuck yeah. Let’s do this thing,” he says, and nothing can ever compare to how Pat (who is gorgeous, and stunning, and attractive in all the ways Brian is not) looks at him as though he holds all the keys to the universe.

  
  
  
  


Gill and Gilbert… _ works, _ somehow.

People seem to like it, at the very least. Also, it’s certainly helped Brian shed his overwhelmed shell when interacting with people he used to admire from further away, so to speak. G&G is fun, easy enough, and he loves how quickly Pat truly has become his best friend, gay yearning non-withstanding. 

Pat is interesting, and funny, and quite possibly a perfect foil to himself, if Brian wanted to get all english major about it. He could, but he won’t, also Patrick Gill are _ you tweeting at nintendo again? _

“What’re you doing this weekend, then?” Pat asks during lunch one Wednesday. Because—somewhere along the line of singing and painting and doing fucking ASMR for the internet—Brian and Pat have become the kind of friends that hang out _ outside _ of work. And get lunch together. Play video games, but for fun on Pat’s couch at one in the afternoon on a Saturday; that kind of friend. 

Brian shrugs. “Dunno,” he mumbles, eating another bite of his sandwich. “Why?” he asks.

“Just wondering.”

“Hm.”

Pat sighs as he delicately places his sandwich on a plate. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he mutters, the tone somewhere between irritated and frustrated. “Okay,” Brian says, and in an attempt to lighten Pat’s mood adds, “don’t die!”

He doesn’t laugh, but Brian can see Pat snort, if a little sarcastically? It’s hard to tell. 

Brian is also stubbornly pushing down any questions that are threatening to rise to the surface, because he’s seen Pat use the men’s bathroom at work, of course, but for some reason used the gender neutral one in a random sandwich shop, of all places. He’s not gonna ask, though, goddammit. Not if Pat hasn’t said anything to Brian himself yet.

Of course, the nature of jobs is that one must return to them eventually. And by nature of streaming together for months on end now, Pat’s starting to know Brian and his expressions and facial motions too, relatively well; all of this culminates by the time they’ve returned to the office.

“What’s on your mind, Bri?”

“Nothing important.”

Pat skeptically raises an eyebrow. The elevator is empty, apart from them, and suddenly it’s as if today was his first day all over again, from how anxious he suddenly feels. “Really,” Brian manages, and hopes that Pat ignores the way his voice trembles. 

He _ does _ ignore it, but the sad—defeated, even—sigh that Patrick releases instead, the way he draws his entire self inwards, instantly crumples Brian’s resolve.

“I was just. Curious. I guess,” he blurts out. Pat’s head sharply turns towards him. “What?”

“You asked what was on my mind. I wasn’t gonna ask, but—god, it’s really a stupid thing to be curious about, honestly—”

Pat’s eyes are gentle, even though Brian feels like he’s doing something wrong, and making an entire ass of himself right now in the process. He probably doesn’t deserve it, but Pat’s voice is just as gentle and soft-spoken. “What was it?”

“... When we were getting lunch,” Brian says tentatively. He doesn’t _ know _ what he’s supposed to be stepping around, he doesn’t know this verbal choreography that is the difference between gracefulness and stepping on Pat’s toes. Metaphorically speaking. “I just noticed that you went into the gender neutral bathroom. And not the men’s.”

He grimaces. “Like I said. Kinda stupid.”

Pat rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling ever so slightly so he can’t be too mad at Brian? “It’s fine. The only real reason is that it’s—less complicated? I dunno,” he says. “I mean. No offense, but—you’ve never thought it would be easier?”

“Than what?” 

Brian can feel the way Pat’s eyes examine him intensely, more than anything else. They linger, he realizes, in a few places—mostly his upper body. His hair. Hands. A silent assessment of the way Brian carries himself. 

The elevator doors open with a chime just as he opens his mouth to answer what, exactly, because Brian got lost somewhere between floors one and five, please. “Nevermind,” Pat mutters instead as he crosses the elevator threshold. 

His teeth pull anxiously at his lower lip, but Brian follows in silence all the same.  
  
  
  


“Oh my fucking _ god _,” Pat groans, later that afternoon. “You’re right. Comments suck.”

Pat looks exhausted, frustrated in a way Brian rarely sees him. “What is it?” Brian asks. He doesn’t get up to peek at Pat’s monitor, but Brian does make an educated guess and almost starts skimming the newest video’s comment section for the cause of Pat’s frustration, but pauses as a thought occurs to him.

“Is it… okay? For me to look it up?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Pat mumbles with a careless flick of his hand. “Just. Not something I was totally expecting—or wanted to deal with today, mentally. f.”

“f,” Brian says under his breath instinctively, and carefully scans the words printed on the screen, searching, trying to figure out the source of pat’s anxiety, but it’s hard work. Nothing is particularly _ mean. _

He almost gives up, honestly, till Pat says with a note of resignation that Brian has never heard before in his voice, “You probably missed it. Near the top.”

Biting his lip, Brian tries again.

_ lol pat looks so butch like this. total lesbian tbh _

He sees Pat squeeze his eyes tight, bite his lips in dreadful anticipation. Brian knows he’s missing something, something _ important _ , some crucial piece of information that could give him an insight into why Pat is suddenly so uncomfortable. “ ‘m gonna grab a coffee,” Pat says after a long moment, when it’s clear Brian isn’t _ getting _ it. He waits a not-very-respectable forty-five seconds before following Pat to the bathroom.

The handle turns easily, but Brian locks the door behind him as he gently pulls it shut. “Pat?” He quietly calls.

Pat’s nearly leaning on the sink, breathing deeply. He runs a rough hand through his hair before huffing the heaviest sigh that Brian has ever heard in his _ life. _ “It’s fine,” Pat exhales, monotone. “Just hadn’t—wasn’t prepared for—” There’s a bitterly grim note in his voice, his smile; almost enough to cover the anxiety scraping at the edge of the words. “—I haven’t been called a _ lesbian _ in ages. Didn’t think it would bother me this much to, um. y’know. See that.”

Brian isn’t sure why its taking him so _ fucking long _ to process this missing piece of the puzzle, why it has to take Pat a minute to realize that Brian is too dumbstruck to figure it out on his own. He’s not exactly sure why Pat’s face ever so subtly lights up, too, like Brian’s done something good without realizing it.

He coughs awkwardly. “Uh, Bri,” Pat stutters slightly, his voice hesitant. “You—you _ do _ know that I’m trans, right?”

_ Oh, _Brian thinks, and it takes him a solid minute to realize he said that aloud too. He coughs awkwardly to bridge the silence and his next thought. “Okay.”

Pat snorts, worry lines slowly but surely fading away. “Yeah. Anyways. It feels kinda stupid, maybe, but it’s been… a long ass time since I’ve had an interaction where I _ didn’t _ pass. Not exactly what the comment was supposed to mean, but. Felt real weird for a sec there.”

“I’d imagine.” 

The silence weighs on the two of them, bogs down the room with tension. “So.” Pat pauses. “I guess…”

Brian coughs. “Right! Right. I better, uh—get back to work. Gotta get ready for the stream, too.”

“Right,” Pat replies, his tone thready and unsure. Like he’s regretting most of the past fifteen minutes, especially upon remembering they have Gill and Gilbert tonight. “The stream. See you—later, then?”

“Yeah. For sure,” Brian echoes. He hesitates for a split-second before hurrying out of the bathroom, breathing deeply while attempting to keep his pulse normal through sheer force of will. 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Hey, Pat,” Brian says faux-casually as Pat checks the mics before they go live. “Wanna get dinner, later? Or something like that?” 

There’s _ something _ in Brian’s voice. Some note of hesitation, maybe? And Pat doubts it’s because of the stream—first off, Brian fucking _ thrives _ on live streams, the goddamn theatre kid. And second, even if Brian didn’t have enough live performance energy for both of them and then some, Gill and Gilbert has been successful enough that, surprisingly, (as Brian once put it) he and Pat are both “still on their bullshit.”

“Sure,” he says, instead of voicing any of this. Mostly because Pat’s a coward, but also because they are literally about to go live and they don’t have the time to delve into _ anyone’s _ anxiety, to be honest. (For example: Pat could delve really fucking deeply into his right now, because he hadn’t really planned on _ coming out _ to Brian an hour before they streamed. Honestly, he’d assumed that Bri had quietly put the pieces together, and moved on with his life.

But, like. Pat’s not gonna say it didn’t feel fucking fantastic for that split second he realized Brian somehow still didn’t _ know _, even with every detail he’d already known about Pat.

He risks a glance to his left, and holy hell. Brian is smiling at him like _ that, _ what does Pat even _ do _ to not be a human disaster, here—nope. Stream now, gay panicking later, Patrick.

“Ready?” Pat asks, because unfortunately silent, existential, very gay crisis is not an option at the moment. (Look, Pat’s a simple man. A disaster gay, and what have you. Well, not necessarily _ what have you, _ because gender is a spectrum but his pronouns are _ not _ “preferred,” fuck whoever let that one catch on. But the sentiment still applies.) 

Brian smiles brilliantly. “Of course, Pat Gill. I was born ready.”

  
  
  


Of _ course _ there are tech issues, because that’s evidently just how Pat’s life is going to be today. Two false starts and however many minutes later, the worst thing has to be how he can’t even decide which of them is more turned on. 

Brian has been breathless and desperate from the beginning, to be honest. Pat should stop being surprised but at the same time he’d been certain that Brian was most definitely not into him. That it wasn't _ reciprocal _gay disaster feelings.

_ (this is a segment called: two dumbasses don’t realize they’re actually into each other.) _

He watches Brian start to fall apart on stream, but the truth is, Pat isn’t doing that much better. Brian might have shown his whole hand the first time Pat deadlifted him—he’s actually proud of himself for that part, thank you very much—but he’s been, uh.. _ Very _ much wet and aching and _ holy fuck _ Pat doesn’t think he can handle Brian bouncing him up and down, the friction that isn’t yet intense enough to be grinding but _ christ _ it’s taking every ounce of self control Pat has to bite down his own whines. To spin a quick sentence, which probably didn’t convince Bri but was enough to nip the worst of Pat’s undoing in the bud.

It’s been an eternity, yet simultaneously no time at all, when they’ve finished switching off all of the cameras and mics, shut down all of the computers, and _ finally _it’s just Pat, and Brian, and their inevitable collision.

“So,” Brian says, low and sultry and all of the things that make Pat’s heart race in anticipation. “You still free tonight?” His eyes are bearing straight into Pat’s soul, slowly approaching him. Step by deliberate step, closer and closer. It’s easy to mirror Brian, to run headfirst into whatever is pulling them together instead of trying to back away from the possibility, for once.

“Maybe,” Pat whispers. He’s just inches away now—can feel the warmth of Brian’s breath on his neck, a sudden tightness at his shirt collar—

Brian doesn’t just _ kiss _ Pat. He kisses with his entire body, every single part of him dynamic and life-giving. He pulls Pat close until he becomes an extension of Brian’s body, and Pat follows his lead before he can think to hesitate. Brian deepens the kiss and keeps Pat pulled tight against him until the exact moment Pat swears he can see an entire fucking galaxy. It’s perfect timing, and with a single kiss Pat is a panting mess of want, need—far moreso than Brian had been the entire stream.

“You’re _ mine, _ baby boy,” Brian murmurs, humming pleasantly at Pat’s cat-like nudges towards every touch he’s gifted.

“Mm,” Pat moans—barely audible, even in a silent room—and his voice is reduced to a whimper. “Bri—hngh—”

“Shh. Look at me.” 

Brian cradles Pat’s chin in his hand. “Oh, baby,” he tsks, “if you’re already this undone, I can’t wait to push you against a bed and completely take you apart.” The whine that escapes him is pathetic, but Brian doesn’t chide. He simply kisses Pat’s cheek, chaste and sweet, and the brilliant smile returns. “C’mon,” he grins, “Laura and Jo are out tonight. That is, if you still want to…?”

Pat grasps his hand gently, interlocking their fingers, before pulling it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss of his own against the back of Bri’s hand, and hopes his expression matches the depths of the fondness Pat feels in his very soul. “Lead the way,” he replies, and follows Brian’s sure and graceful steps.

  
  
  
  
  


They talk the entire way to Brian’s. 

Pat whispers _ no _ and _ yes _ and _ we’ll see, I suppose, _ to every question Brian thinks to ask him (and to a few that he doesn’t). He listens earnestly to each detail that rushes out of Brian, encourages him when he falters, searches for the answers that Brian likely hasn’t _ had _ to ask questions for, before. Pat hasn’t practiced this song and dance for some time, but he knows the tune well. 

(He doesn’t—at least, tries not to—dwell on his past often. There are fond memories, of course: dragging himself to classes, being dragged out of the dorms by girlfriends and exes alike to, “be social some of the time,” short hair, and even shorter nails. Pat remembers taking the word “butch,” every part that came with it, and shrouding himself in them when there was nothing else he’d found that even came _ close _ to how he’d felt.)

They nearly reprise the stream as Brian unlocks the door to the (currently) empty apartment, Pat almost tumbling to the floor when he trips over Bri _ and _the entryway. “Patrick,” Brian tuts. “You just can’t seem to help yourself, can you?”

A familiar heat rushes between Pat’s legs, mirroring the flush burning through his cheeks. He finds himself lowering his head on instinct, fixing his eyes to the floor with his hands clasped behind his back. Brian doesn’t rush to him this time, though. 

Pat stands and waits, battling every instinct to fidget under the stare Brian maintains throughout every slow step. “On your knees, Pat,” he orders. “Keep your hands where they are, for now.” 

Brian is close, now. Close enough to use one of his hands to tilt Pat’s chin upwards and the other to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I’ve got you now, sweetheart. Everyone is going to know you’re _ mine." _ He pulls off his own shirt first—he’d already shed his jacket at the door. He looks to be weighing his options, for a moment, before discarding his pants and underwear as well. 

Pat isn’t given the privilege of removing his own clothes, evidently.

The weight of Brian’s studying gaze feels infinite. He clearly knows what he wants though, pushing Pat through the hall into his bedroom, where he’s instantly pinned on his back—his thighs pressed downwards by Brian’s bent legs, one arm pinned at the wrist and the other with no purchase in reach.

Brian uses his free hand to trail his hand all the way down from the hollows of Pat’s collarbones. The touch is feather-light, fingers brushing from side to side across his chest. They linger on his sides, near his underarms, and skirt tentatively over Pat’s thighs.

“Look at you, already whining and you don’t even have anything inside you yet,” Brian says, sliding agile fingers across Pat’s entrance, climbing upwards to massage his clit. 

“Mmn, Bri, I’m—” he pants. Brian uses his thumb to maintain pressure on his clit, which. He’s doing a fucking spectacular job with that already—and it shouldn’t startle him but it _ does, _ how Brian slides a finger inside him with no fucking warning. Pat gasps from both shock and feeling, trying but failing to form words.

Leaning back over his calves, Brian abandons his hold on Pat’s arm, likely sensing that it honestly? Wasn’t going to make a lick of difference, considering how he’d already become a crying mess and was completely helpless to Brian’s whims. 

“Oh, Pat,” He begins, adding a second finger and ignoring how the moans escaping him were increasing in volume. “You’re so wet for me already. So fucking _ beautiful, _ begging for me, for my cock.”

“Yes, please, _ please, _ need it. Need you inside me,” Pat whimpers. “Need _ you._"

Brian chuckles darkly, and—oh

wait, why is Pat suddenly so _ empty_— 

“You make such pretty sounds, baby boy, when you’re really desperate for something, huh?” Brian laughs, but it’s lighter this time, and the pressure lets up from his legs as Brian’s dick presses inside him. Pat tries to push upwards out of instinct but Bri makes use of his arms again, pressing Pat into the mattress. All Pat can do is take what is given to him, moan and whimper on every thrust, whine with pleasure at every bruise Brian suckles into Pat’s chest.

It’s _ good, _ when Pat manages to clench even tighter around Brian, who comes with a shout. Brian, who valiantly resumes his position with his clever musician fingers and his fucking talented mouth, working in tandem to make Pat utterly breathless with pleasure as he comes. 

  
  
  


Brian is also his favorite person in the world, Pat decides, after they finally find the energy to move and he’s already gathered a washcloth, a glass of water, and a few towels. 

“Feel free to take first shower, if you want,” he adds. Pat could kiss him right now, honest to god—wait—

“... Can I kiss you right now?” he asks cautiously. Brian freezes for a moment, shit, fuck, good one Pat. _ Not a great idea then. _

“Of course,” he answers, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I just. _ Wow._ You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you, Pat Gill.”

“Yeah?”

“Ages. Since my first month, more ‘n likely.”

“Well then,” Pat smiles, and scoots over a few inches. “What are you waiting for?”

Brian’s flushed grin grows even wider as he scrambles onto the bed, and Pat can’t help but smile as their lips—and lives, maybe—crash into each other again, and again, and again.

**Author's Note:**

> if you havent guessed by the end of the fic im incredibly surprised my brand is normally bulletproof
> 
> there are probably a gazillion things that could be fixed/better about this but i humbly present it anyways im so sorry for my mistakes
> 
> (i did it yall. bapey's first smut fic and i think it even mostly turned out okay lmao)


End file.
